Holding the Tension: Let’s Talk About Nervous Laughter
I’m sure you’ve been there. Someone says something off. The room isn’t sure how to respond—it doesn’t quite land. But instead of naming it, to keep things light or help the moment pass quicker, people laugh. Later, it may still gnaw at you: Why did I laugh?
We do this to appease. To avoid awkwardness. To diffuse the tension. But what if the tension actually serves a purpose?
A discriminatory comment is made.
Someone walks in late and interrupts the meeting.
Someone shirks responsibility with a joke.
An uncomfortable truth is named—and we chuckle to smooth it over.
Can we do away with the nervous laughter?
Are we okay if something is actually not okay?
This isn’t about shaming people for poor behaviour. But it is about not absorbing the tension on their behalf or indirectly endorsing the moment. Sometimes the best thing we can do to effect change is to let the discomfort stand.
In each of the above examples, someone is not being held responsible for actions that are out of step for the situation. And while those moments don’t always call for confrontation, they do call for something. Sometimes, that “something” is just not playing along.
I’ve learned to take a breath and hold the moment—especially when something feels off, but I don’t yet know why. In a group, my lack of laughter usually goes unnoticed. One-on-one, they might say, “Hey, it was just a joke.” Or offer some other framing to relieve the awkwardness. Which is only natural. But then I can only hope, that after the moment passes, they might ponder what they said and reflect.
I’ve been on the receiving end of someone holding the tension, and I’ve become grateful for it.
Once, I made a passing remark: “We’re gonna get together and have a powwow.” My friend paused and said, matter-of-factly, “I don’t think we’re saying that anymore.”
It stopped me in my tracks. The phrase had become so colloquial in my vocabulary that I didn’t even register the impact. Her calm presence—her ability to stay with the tension—nudged me to learn. And while I knew a powwow was culturally significant to First Nations, I hadn’t made the connection that my use of the term was trivializing and insensitive.
I was grateful she didn’t shame me or make a scene. She just held the tension, and it opened the door to understanding. To this day, I’m more mindful of my language because of her.
It's a great example of how we don’t need a dramatic intervention for every tension.
We don’t need to call it out perfectly.
But we don’t have to play along.
Why should we pause and hold the tension?
Because it honours others.
Harmful comments are often made at someone else’s expense. Pausing gives us space to discern who needs defending—and what we want to align ourselves with. It’s also an act of care. I know I was grateful someone reflected something back to me with gentleness and clarity.
Because it honours ourselves.
You don’t have to instantly respond with clarity. You’re allowed to pause, breathe, and ask: Why did that sit wrong with me?
Because it disrupts the pattern.
Our subconscious urges us to smooth things over, blend in, stay liked. It’s middle school instinct. But if we want cultural change, we have to resist it.
Conflict Agility: Go In, Go Up, Go Out
Go In (hold the tension)
Ground yourself in your values. Be curious towards what feels off.
Go Up (with purpose)
What’s the pattern here?
What’s the opportunity for growth?
Who might be at the expense of this moment?
Go Out
Don’t laugh.
Don’t absorb.
Don’t endorse.
Just hold.
Staying curious,
Jodi